


These are the days you often say, there's nothing that we cannot do

by rydia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fluff, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance, Some angst, Unresolved Sexual and Romantic Tension, mentions of minor character death, rated M mostly for Byleth's horny thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24131305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rydia/pseuds/rydia
Summary: Fresh from their win at the Bridge of Myrddin, Byleth and Claude travel to Derdriu to gain the support of the Alliance nobles for the war effort.A lot can happen in one day.Or, an attempt at slow burn sexual tension, taking place over the course of one day.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 42
Kudos: 271
Collections: The Golden Gifts - Claudeleth Fic/Art Exchange





	These are the days you often say, there's nothing that we cannot do

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [juicep0x](https://twitter.com/juicep0x/) as part of The Golden Gifts exchange, who wanted some slow burn sexual tension during the war. I'm sorry this fic is so late, but I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to [Mads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddy02) again for her help with this concept and her suggestions. <3 
> 
> (I'm using bells to indicate the passing of each hour – I felt 1AM, 2AM, etc would be too anachronistic!)

**1st of the Great Tree Moon**

**Midnight**

It’s no surprise to Byleth that she and Claude are the last two remaining in the room. It’s so often been this way since she’d returned from her five year absence. And even though the setting is different than their usual one, the atmosphere is the same.

Right now, they’re working from a repurposed room in the fort at the Empire end of the Bridge of Myrddin, and not at Garreg Mach – where they’re always either in the Cardinal’s Room after a big meeting, or having tea and discussing their plans in the privacy of her own room.

The Alliance army and the Knights of Seiros, marching under the Crest of Flames, have just successfully taken the Bridge of Myrddin, and now they’re planning to push south into the Empire proper

But before that, Claude needs to go back to Derdriu and address the Roundtable and win their support – and their money and soldiers. And Byleth is to accompany him. They’re to leave early in the morning, at first light, taking Claude’s wyvern and flying to Derdriu where the Alliance nobles have already gathered.

Right now, though, that seems very distant. Claude is pouring over a map of Adrestia, already thinking ahead beyond the Roundtable. He’s confident about it – far less concerned than Byleth is. He’s had years of dealing with these nobles, and he knows how to work them, especially when he’s going to them fresh on the back of their success at Myrddin.

Byleth, distracted, watches him where he’s seated directly across from her at the wide table they’re sharing. Perhaps it’s exhaustion catching up with her, but she finds she can’t drag her eyes away from him. She should focus on what she’s supposed to be doing – writing letters as the _acting Archbishop_ of the church – but instead her eyes follow Claude’s gloved hand as he lifts it to push some hair out of his eyes, which has gotten progressively more mussed up as the evening has gone on.

Byleth wonders if it feels as soft as it looks.

Under the table, her fingers dig into her leg.

The hand – that mesmerising hand – then drops back to the table to grab a cup, raising it to his lips. And all the while, Byleth can’t stop watching, doesn’t even stop to think about why something this mundane is so engrossing.

Claude places the cup at his lips, eyes still focused on the map, and takes a deep swallow. Distantly, Byleth notices his grimacing expression – that tea has long gone cold – but mostly she notices the way his throat works as he swallows.

She sighs.

Claude’s eyes raise and his lips turn upwards in a tired smile. “You look exhausted, Teach. You should get some rest.”

Byleth blinks, straightening up and hauling herself out of her stupor, embarrassment prickling at her. Thankfully, Claude doesn’t seem to have noticed her staring.

“So should you,” she replies softly. He looks just as exhausted as she feels.

“Me? I’m used to burning the candle at both ends; I’ll be fine–“

She shakes her head. “No. Either we both leave or we both stay.”

A pause as tired green eyes regard her thoughtfully. “Ah, my friend, you drive a hard bargain. How about this? We both finish one more task and then we sleep?”

She agrees to that, and Claude’s smile warms, and Byleth’s breath catches.

**First bell**

Claude accompanies her back to her room, telling her it’s on the way to his. They both move silently through the still unfamiliar fort that was so recently held by their enemies, arms brushing as they walk.

It’s quiet, but there’s tension in the air. Unsurprisingly, there’s a heavy presence of guards. Perhaps more than is necessary. Claude doesn’t expect any kind of sneaky retaliation from Edelgard, and Byleth knows he’s probably right about that. But she still never forgets that Edelgard also harboured the girl that killed her father; she’ll take no risks with anyone else that she cares for.

They come to a stop at her door, and Byleth rests her hand on the handle before turning back to Claude. Despite her tiredness, she’s reluctant to leave him, and the thought of inviting him in floats across her mind before she dismisses it, knowing what that would sound like. Words like that – thoughts like that – are too dangerous at night when there’s just the two of them and she needs to remember that Claude is her friend. She’d do well to remember it when she’s distracted by his finger and his lips and his… everything.

So she doesn’t say anything, throat going dry as she looks up at him, illuminated in the soft glow of the oil lamp by her door.

His eyes seem darker than usual as he regards her. For a second he seems to waver, like he’s about to step forward, closer into Byleth’s personal space.

She’d welcome it. Her fingers are already itching to pull him closer, to experience the pleasant feel of him pressed up against her, something she’s only experienced fleetingly a handful of times through friendly hugs.

But then he steps back, something Byleth can’t read in his gaze. “I’m just down the hall,” he murmurs, tilting his head to indicate the direction. His hair falls in front of his eyes again, calling out to her to reach up and brush it aside, to trail her fingers over his face and the shell of his ears as she tucks the unruly strands away.

Byleth nods, hoping none of her thoughts are showing on her face. “Well, then. Sleep well.”

“And you, my friend.”

Neither of them move. In the stillness and quiet, to Byleth in that moment it feels like there’s just the two of them in the world.

It’s Byleth who breaks the heavy silence. “Aren’t you… aren’t you going?”

“After you go inside,” Claude responds, the atmosphere lightening with his easy smile.

Her brows furrow. “Are you trying to be _chivalrous_?” She hisses the word like it tastes bad, and Claude chuckles quietly.

“Maybe I am. First time for everything, right?”

Humming incredulously, Byleth turns the handle of the door and pushes it open. There’s an inviting bed waiting for her, she knows. She really needs to sleep. But she still doesn’t want to be parted from him.

Glancing back at Claude, she begins to feel guilty. He looks tired, too, and she’s keeping him up when he should be resting. This war is wearing on them all, but no one is working harder than him, she believes.

“Alright then.” Her voice is subdued. “Goodnight, Claude.”

Still smiling, Claude gives her a little wave. “‘Night, Teach.”

The door shuts and she hears him move down the hall.

As she prepares for bed, his smiling face lingers in her mind.

**Second bell**

She can’t sleep.

She is exhausted and _she cannot sleep_.

A bell tolls twice, marking the passing of the hour. They’re quieter here than they are at Garreg Mach. Byleth finds she misses it, the loud, comforting, familiar noise of the cathedral bells.

**Third bell**

Byleth’s hand creeps down between her legs, fingers brushing against her inner thigh. But she’s wearing her leggings, prepared to leap out of bed and defend herself or others if needed. There is a dagger under her pillow, and the Sword of the Creator is by her bedside, within easy reach.

Still, it would be easy to slip her hadn’t under her clothes and seek some relief that might allow her to slip. The idea makes her shiver with a sudden spike of want, but almost immediately she shies away, pushing the idea out of her mind. She knows if she puts her hand on herself whose face she’ll picture, whose hands she’ll imagine touching herself instead of her own. Behind her eyelids, she sees it; lips pressing a scorching trail down her body as her fingers tangle in dark hair.

And with a frustrated groan, Byleth turns in bed, pulling her hand away from her leg and punching her pillow before trying to settle down again and find sleep.

**Fourth bell**

Sleep comes, but her dreams are not pleasant. There is Ferdinand, falling at Myrddin, his orange hair running crimson with blood. Byleth tries to rewind time to fix it, to make it better, but it doesn’t matter. He still dies.

There is Sothis, just out of reach.

There is Claude, turning away.

**Fifth bell**

Perhaps it’s because she’s been staring at the ceiling of her room for so long, but Byleth imagines she’s seeing patterns in the stone. When she closes her eyes, she can still see them, imprinted on her eyelids.

She thinks of Claude, of when she’d first seen him after she’d woken up, when she’d still been bedraggled from her five year sleep. Of when he’d turned to face her from where he stood in the Goddess Tower, sunlight streaming in the window behind him. Of when she’d realised that this handsome man smiling at her, welcoming her, was _Claude_.

And in the days that followed that, as they worked together to make the monastery inhabitable and he brought her up to date on the state of Fódlan, she’d noticed all sorts of things about him that she never had before. The broadness of his shoulders, the strength in his legs, how he’d gotten taller. His _beard_.

And it hadn’t just been the physical changes that had caught her attention – it had been more than that. Claude has grown so much as a person in the last five years, despite how difficult those years have obviously been for him. He holds himself with more confidence, and he’s more open – at least with Byleth and the Golden Deer. In fact, his faith and trust in the Deer is touching, and his smiles with them are more genuine.

Oh, he still has his secrets and schemes – this is Claude, after all. But his growth makes Byleth so proud of him.

And she finds herself wanting him in a way she’s never wanted anyone before.

She wants _all_ of Claude, and she doesn’t know what to do with these feelings – feelings that sometimes seem so overwhelming.

But they’re at war, and he is the sovereign duke of the Alliance, and she has become a symbol of the church. She cannot be distracted by these feelings.

And Claude is her friend. More than anything he is that, and sometimes Byleth feels guilty for the way she thinks about him.

**Sixth bell**

They fly to Derdriu on Claude’s wyvern.

There had been a brief discussion about Byleth flying herself – it’s not her strongest skill, but she would be more than able to manage. But for some reason Claude had felt it better for them both to share one, that his wyvern was easily able to carry them both, and Byleth had been disinclined to argue with him.

But now that she’s in the air, she wonders at what she was thinking.

Her back is pressed to Claude’s front, his thighs cradling hers. His arms stretch around her, holding the reins, while she grips the front of the saddle, her knuckles white. Not because of the height or speed they’re flying at, but because she’s acutely aware of how intimate this is.

Even through the wind, Byleth can feel Claude’s warm breath against her ear. All of him is warm, and she just wants to curl into him, to press her mouth to his skin.

She shivers.

Behind her, Claude shifts slightly. Each movement, little as it may be, sends a jolt through her.

“Are you cold?” he asks into her ear.

Byleth turns her head so she can see his face, and is a little surprised to still find it so close to hers.

Their noses are almost touching.

Claude’s eyes flick forward to briefly scan the horizon, before they dart back to hers. He smiles. “The wind can be a bit bracing, I know.”

Byleth is frozen, but not because of the wind. She clears her throat, forcing herself to look forward again, attempting to banish the sight of Claude’s windswept hair and flushed cheeks from her mind.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Claude sounds far too teasing for her liking. She’s used to his teasing, and has long since grown to enjoy it. He knows how to draw her out, and make her smile.

But Byleth’s not sure how to deal with this, this confusing mass of emotions that every playful word raises in her. Or how to deal with how… _distracting_ she finds him. She’s never felt like this before, and it’s as thrilling as it is terrifying.

Without waiting for her answer, Claude lowers his arms, so that they’re tighter around her shoulders, and his hands rest on top of hers where they still sit on the raised edge of the saddle.

He laughs, breath tickling her exposed neck under her ear. She’d had to put her hair up for flying.

“It’s alright, Teach. I know you’re nervous about the Roundtable, but they’ll love you.” His voice lowers. “Who wouldn’t?”

**Seventh bell**

Byleth’s breath catches as they approach Derdriu. It’s a beautiful morning; the sky is a clear, soft blue, and the ocean beyond the city sparkles in the bright sunlight, glittering like a sea of jewels.

Claude’s hands tighten slightly where they still rest over hers.

“How beautiful,” she murmurs, so quiet that she’s surprised that Claude is able to hear it.

He makes a pleased sound behind her. “Isn’t it? There’s nowhere else quite like it in Fódlan.”

“I’ve always liked Derdriu,” she confesses. “Though we never came here much. There was more work for mercenaries in the Kingdom.” Byleth turns to him, finding his green eyes on her rather than on the spectacular view of Derdriu. She smiles. “And we certainly never came by air.”

His returning smile is warm. “We’ll have to do this more often.”

Byleth’s stomach flip-flops pleasantly. She wishes they weren’t both wearing gloves so that she might be able to feel his fingers against hers. “After the war?” She can’t help the hopeful note entering her voice.

Claude’s gaze softens, but he looks away, out over the city they’re rapidly approaching. His hands shift, directing the wyvern with expert ease. “After the war,” he repeats, sounding strangely sombre.

Frowning at him, Byleth asks, “You don’t think we’ll win?”

Claude’s eyes snap back to her, his voice brightening. “On the contrary, Teach, I have every confidence that we will. You and me – how can we _not_ win?”

She turns towards him as much as she can, strangely dissatisfied with his answer, despite it seeming to be honest.

“I know my face is fascinating, but you’re missing the view, Teach.” This time, she can see something troubling him underneath his easy words and smile.

She doesn’t answer, because as far as she’s concerned her current view is the best in Fódlan. Claude’s hair is messy, blown about by the wind and without thinking, Byleth pulls one of her hands out from under his and reaches up to brush some of it away from his face, smoothing back against his hair.

Claude’s eyes widen at her touch, and then drift halfway closed. He leans slightly into her hand, like a cat looking for scritches, so Byleth does the same with the loose hair on the other side of his head.

When she reluctantly withdraws her hand, Claude’s eyes open fully again, looking darker than usual as he regards her with the same intensity she’d felt last night when he’d walked her to her room.

“Thanks, Teach,” Claude says, voice a little rough.

She swallows. Her heart does not race but she knows her pulse is hammering away. In an attempt to lighten… whatever this is, she takes a deep breath and says. “You’re welcome. Maybe you should have taken up Hilda’s offer of a hairband.”

His lips quirk upwards, drawing her attention to them and how soft and inviting they looked. “Oh no, Teach, why would I do that when I have you?”

The wyvern dips suddenly – or at least, suddenly to Byleth, who hasn’t been paying attention, and she turns to see them sharply descending towards a tall tower.

One of Claude’s arms slide around her middle to keep her steady.

He doesn’t let go until they land.

**Eight bell**

Nardel is interesting, Byleth decides. She likes him. The big, boisterous man had greeted her warmly – right after teasing Claude – and then got down to business, updating Claude on what he’s missed in his territories, and what to expect at the Roundtable.

Byleth observes the two of them quietly as she eats a small breakfast. They have some time to relax and freshen up before the Roundtable begins.

Nardel reminds her of some of the few Almyrans she’d encountered growing up. There were never that many of them, though occasionally one would join with her father’s band for a time. They never stayed.

Her eyes flicker from Claude to Nardel and back again. Byleth is very well aware that she’s not the most politically experienced person – although she’s getting much better, thanks to the help of Claude and the other Golden Deer – but she’s fairly certain Nardel is an unusual choice of retainer for the sovereign Duke of the Alliance.

Byleth remembers well the conversations she’s had with Claude about his parents and his upbringing. She remembers everything that he told her as well as what he _didn’t_.

Claude turns to her with a smile as he reaches across the table to pour himself more tea. His head inclines slightly in Nardel’s direction – who is speaking in a rather unflattering manner about Count Gloucester – and he raises his eyebrows, as if in apology.

She only raises one shoulder in response, smiling back.

Nardel stops his tirade to laugh loudly. “Well, look at the two of you, making eyes over the breakfast table. I’m impressed, kiddo.”

Scowling, Claude turns back to Nardel, once again telling him to stop calling him _kiddo_.

Byleth says nothing. She’s not bothered by Nardel’s comment.

She’s not even particularly bothered by now knowing Claude’s secrets are likely deeper than she’d ever suspected. Perhaps she should be.

But she isn’t. All she feels is surprise that she isn’t. Because now she knows exactly how much she trusts him.

She watches Claude bicker with Nardel. In that moment, he reminds her of how he’d been as a student.

It’s cute to see.

Her unbeating heart clenches.

And suddenly she knows exactly how much she _loves_ him.

**Ninth bell**

The nobles range from welcoming to outright hostile.

Claude handles them all with ease, his smile never faltering.

The way he deftly handles them reminds Byleth once again of how much he’s grown in the five years she’s missed, and she’s as sad about not being there as she is proud of him for what he’s accomplished. Many of these nobles might not realise or want to admit it, but Claude has held the Alliance together and politicked well enough to keep it out of the war and from suffering the same fate as the Kingdom.

Byleth does not have the charm and pleasing demeanour of Claude, but she proves to be a good foil for him. She speaks when necessary, and isn’t at all cowed by any of the nobles. In fact, the opposite seems to be true for some of them – so many of these nobles have never seen battle or taken a life directly. They’ve heard of Jeralt the Bladebreaker, though. Some of them may even have hired her father’s company in the past.

And they’ve heard of the Bladebreaker’s daughter – the Ashen Demon with the Crest of Flames. Chosen by Rhea to take care of the Church in her absence.

These nobles may not like her, but they take her seriously.

**Tenth bell**

She and Claude are seated side by side at the Roundtable – which is very much what it sounds like. They and the most prominent Alliance nobles all sit around a large, round table in one of the grandest rooms of the Riegan palace. It’s symbolic, to hold to the idea that Duke Riegan is merely a first among equals.

In practice, of course, he’s a little more than that.

By his side, she can’t look at Claude as much as she’d like, or meet his eye. Perhaps that’s just as well, because while Byleth is good at compartmentalising and keeping herself in control, it’s hard to put her feelings aside. The revelation she’d had over breakfast at just how important Claude is to her is difficult not to dwell on, and she can’t afford the distraction. Later, after this meeting is done, she can find time to herself and dwell then.

For now, she needs to focus – this is another battlefield after all. One fought with words, not weapons.

In this, she allows herself to be led by Claude – the timbre of his voice tells her much, able to identify how seriously he’s taking whoever he’s talking to. She listens to the words he doesn’t say, and the comments that mean nothing to the others, but that she knows are meant for her. Quickly, she learns when to step in to bolster Claude’s point, and how to bring the sometimes meandering arguments and conversations back to the important points.

This is not an area she feels comfortable in, but Byleth finds herself able to handle herself.

There is one particularly unpleasant encounter with Count Gloucester, when he slams his fists down on the table and his face purples in rage, almost matching his hair.

Byleth knows he’s been undermining Claude for years, working with the Empire and hoping for his own elevation – or perhaps just his own survival. But it’s becoming increasingly clear that he’s lost. Even those who had previously always supported Gloucester sense which way the wind is blowing, and are turning towards Claude.

Now, Gloucester has lost. It’s lucky for him that Claude isn’t bloodthirsty. The Count will keep his life, but his power from now on will only decrease. His seat will be occupied by his son at the next Roundtable, and the country will be better for it. Lorenz is by far the superior man.

But for now, they face down a man raging as he refuses to accept that he’s been defeated.

Byleth glances sideways at Claude, seeing his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. He’s kept up a powerful front, not letting anything get to him, but even he has his limits.

Under the table, she stealthily reaches across to brush her fingers against his hand, clenched in a fist on his thigh. Under her touch, his hand relaxes, and he turns his hand to tangle her fingers in his, and once more Byleth finds herself lamenting that they’re both wearing gloves.

But she can feel his warmth, and can see the unclenching of his jaw and shoulders that lets her know he’s drawing some comfort from her touch.

It warms her, but she keeps her face passive as she focuses again on Count Gloucester.

Claude does not let go of her until he has to stand to address the room again.

Byleth curls her own hand tight, hidden under the table, like doing so might retain the heat Claude has passed to her.

**Eleventh bell**

The battle at Myrddin is recounted – their losses, their gains. Byleth keeps her gaze straight and her voice steady as she tells them that Edelgard has lost two generals – including Ferdinand von Aegir. To the Alliance nobles, it’s a win. A big one. One that will sway them further to Claude’s cause. He has removed Edelgard’s Prime Minister, a member of her inner circle, and taken the Bridge of Myrddin. Both are huge losses to the Empire.

To them Ferdinand von Aegir is just a name. To her, it’s much more.

She feels Claude watching her, but Byleth doesn’t let herself look at him until she’s sitting back down, catching his eyes as she does so.

“Nicely done, Teach,” he murmurs, subtly shifting closer to her, as a discussion breaks out across the table. “You doing okay?”

She’s not sure if she is, truly, but his concern makes her feel better. It makes her smile. “I’m with you,” she whispers, “so I’m better than okay.”

Claude blinks, eyebrows raising, and his cheeks darken slightly. But he recovers quickly, turning slightly away and clearing his throat as he stands up to address the room again, none of his momentary surprise at her words visible.

Is it embarrassment? Byleth wonders. Annoyance?

Had she been too honest, made too clear her feelings with her words?

She tries not to stew on it, not when she still has to pay attention to what’s going on around her, but the pang of hurt and sadness cuts through her and settles in her belly, and she can’t dislodge it.

**Midday**

The midday bells signify that it’s time for an early lunch. Byleth welcomes the break – she feels like this day has already lasted too long.

They remove to another room, where tea is being served with some light refreshments.

But they’re still working. This might be less formal than the Roundtable proper, but Claude has explained to her that this is all still part of the process, and a chance to speak to people individually before the afternoon session.

She’s separated from him now, both of them in conversation with different groups. Every so often Byleth catches his gaze across the room, green eyes watching her over his cup of tea.

Claude stands out. He’s not the tallest in the room, or even the most richly clothed. But he doesn’t need to be. He has what none of these nobles have; the ability to unite people. He’s charming and charismatic and…

“Mr. Leader Man has certainly grown up, hasn’t he?”

Byleth, startled out of her reverie, cuts her eyes to Judith, who is standing beside her, looking at her with a sly expression.

“Yes,” she replies evenly. “Claude certainly has.”

Judith raises her eyebrows. “You two make a good team,” she says thoughtfully. “I never understood why he waited for you the way he did, but I get it now.”

“He waited?” Something in the phrasing of that makes Byleth frown. She knows Claude always believed she’d return, but it’s not like he’d spent the last five years doing nothing. To say he’d been waiting makes him sound like a heroine in a novel, lounging around doing nothing, and expecting to be rescued. _Waiting_ is not at all how Byleth would have described Claude’s life for the past few years.

Judith laughs, sounding slightly incredulous. She gestures towards the room full of nobles. “Do you think he’d have achieved all this in a few months without you?”

Byleth doesn’t have a chance to respond, because Count Gloucester approaches them with odious fake politeness.

She and Judith respond in kind, though there is sincerity about Byleth’s smile when Claude makes an expression of sympathy at her from behind the Count’s back.

**First bell**

Being stuffed with tea and pastries has not made the nobles still against Claude any more amenable. In fact, it seems to have renewed their energy, and they work through the same arguments again and again.

Their fear of Edelgard and the Empire is obvious. They’ve seen what happened to Faerghus.

Through it all, Claude never loses his patience. His smiles and words may sometimes become barbed but never once does he raise his voice or his face turn red from anger – unlike Count Gloucester, who does both things frequently. Claude again talks of their win against the Empire when they defended Garreg Mach, and how they took the Bridge of Myrddin. He gives a broad outline of his plans. But only broad, because this is Claude, and his schemes he keeps close to his chest – something Byleth can respect even as much as it frustrates her at times.

By now, she’s lost the patience to fake a smile, but her steely demeanour next to Claude works just as well.

 _Truly the Ashen Demon_ , she hears one of them mutter.

**Second bell**

Numbers and plans and details. People and their lives being reduced to figures. That is what war looks like to nobles who don’t fight in it.

But the nobles are coming around, finally understanding that Claude’s way is the only way that doesn’t leave them at the mercy of the Empire.

The Count is left out in the cold as nobles pledge their banner and their soldiers to Claude’s war effort.

Claude’s smile turns satisfactory but remains cold. A plan come to fruition is always satisfying, but Byleth knows he’s thinking about how many more lives he’s now responsible for, and wondering how many will die. Because such a thing is inevitable in war.

**Third bell**

The Riegan estate is beautiful. Byleth wanders the grounds after the Roundtable breaks up. There will be a dinner later, followed by music and dancing. More unofficial politicking, really, where she’ll be representing the Church again, but for now her time is her own.

She looks up in the clear blue sky, wishing that she could be back up there with Claude pressed at her back, his presence and warmth wrapping around her, his mouth so close to her ear she can feel his words vibrate through her.

With a sigh, she drops her gaze, eyes wandering along the impressive building that she knows houses Claude’s personal rooms.

She thinks of him working in there, long into the night, as five years go by. So slowly for him, so quick for her.

_He waited for you._

Did he think of her when he was in his bed the way she thinks of him?

The thought and the image of Claude in bed, skin exposed and flush, his expression intense and wanting, his hands creeping down to touch himself, sends a jolt through Byleth.

Overhead, a crowd of seagulls shriek, and she blinks, the image disappearing from behind her eyes.

Byleth glares up at the seagulls, who continue their shrieking.

**Fourth bell**

“Teach? Can I come in?”

Claude’s voice and his knock on the door has Byleth sitting upright in the bath, water sloshing all around her and out over the side.

“Yes,” she calls out in reply, before sinking back down to rest her head on the edge of the bath again.

She hears Claude enter and shut the door behind him.

“Are you hiding, Teach?” His voice is teasing.

“Ah, no, I’m behind the partition.” She hears him begin to move and raises her voice and rapidly continues, “I’m having a bath!”

A pause and a beat of silence.

“Oh.” Another pause. He clears his throat. When he speaks again Claude sounds endearingly hesitant. “I can come back later?”

“No, it’s fine. What do you need?” She’s blushing, she knows. How silly. He can’t even see her.

“I just wanted to…” She hears him take a seat. “I just wanted to congratulate you on this morning. You were magnificent, Teach.”

Byleth huffs. “Don’t exaggerate.”

“I _never_ exaggerate.”

She ignores that outrageous statement. “You did most of the work.”

“And you continue to give all the credit to others. Just like when I was your student.”

Byleth idly runs a hand through the water. He sounds so relaxed.

She wishes she could see his face to be sure, but even though she’s completely submerged beneath the water, with only her face visible, inviting him to come sit by her in the bath seems… well, far from innocent. Entirely inappropriate. Even having him in the room right now is probably breaking a number of rules of decorum.

“Teach?” His voice is closer now, just beyond the partition. Byleth knows he won’t come closer, much as she might want him to, because he’s too considerate for that.

She clenches her thighs together and sighs. “Claude?”

“I’m here.”

She swallows. “I’m not your teacher anymore.”

He laughs lightly. “Perhaps, but I still feel like I’m always learning from you.”

 _Funny_ , Byleth thinks, _that’s how I feel about you_. Out loud, she says, “Will you ever call me by my name?”

Silence again. He’s not moving at all. Eventually, he responds, voice soft. “Is that something you want?”

The tenor of his voice sends a pleasant shiver down her spine and she sits up, raising her knees out of the still steaming water. She watches the ripples her movements make.

“No one really calls me by my name and I’d like–“

Byleth clamps her mouth shut, suddenly wondering if she’s about to say too much – admit something she isn’t sure he’ll want to hear.

Speaking low and quiet, in a way that makes desire pool in her belly, Claude prompts her, “You’d like what, Teach?” His voice sounds closer, somehow, but he’s still out of sight.

“I’d like…” She starts and then sighs. “I’d like to hear you say it.”

She’s imagined it enough times, all the ways he might say it.

There’s another long pause from the other side of the partition, and Byleth would do anything to know what he’s thinking.

“Alright,” Claude eventually responds, still in that low voice, but shaking with something she can’t identify. “I’ll do that.” Another long pause. “ _Teach_.”

She huffs and smacks the water, sending a spray over the side. “Really, Claude?”

He laughs, quiet and warm. “C’mon, the first time? I’ll have to make it special.”

Byleth’s breath catches. Does he have to say it like _that_? She shifts in the water, once again clenching her thighs together. With effort, she forces a laugh in response. “I suppose it will be something to look forward to.”

“Don’t worry.” Now there’s clear amusement in his voice. “I’ll make it worth the wait.”

Byleth does not imagine what it would be like to hear him say those words directly into her hair, pressed against her like he’d been that morning, to feel his grip on her move from her hands to her waist to press her closer to him, his lips just ghosting against her ear.

_I’ll make it worth the wait._

No, she absolutely does not picture it in excruciating detail.

**Fifth bell**

“Dinner will be more casual, but they’ll be searching for weaknesses just as much as they’ll be trying to get your favour.” Claude tells her over a cup of tea. They both should be getting ready for dinner, which begins soon, but he’d stayed until she’d gotten out of the bath and dried and wrapped herself in a thick robe.

He’d been silent while she’d done that, but Byleth had heard him pacing around the room, and poking through the bookshelf even though he must be aware of what is on the shelves in his own home. With each brush of the towel against her skin, she’d been thinking of him, and–

Anyway, now they’re sipping tea and chatting, but the mention of dinner also makes Byleth’s stomach rumble.

Claude laughs. “Hungry, Teach?”

She wonders when he’ll say her name.

“Claude.” She fixes him with a look. “I’ve hardly eaten anything today.”

His eyebrows raise high, his disbelief clear. “I saw you put away those pastries at lunch.”

“Pastries aren’t a _meal_. I need meat.”

He laughs again, loudly.

She loves the sound of it, especially because it’s so rare for Claude to let his guard down enough to let himself laugh like that, freely.

“I suppose,” he says, drawing out his words, “that means I should go get dressed. After all, dinner doesn’t start until I say it does.” He grins, all teeth, looking predatory. “I could make you all wait.”

Byleth rolls her eyes – something she certainly never did before she’d met Hilda. Her smile stays on her face, though. “You have too much power, Claude von Riegan. It’s gone to your head.”

“I am a tyrant, it’s true.”

“It won’t end well if you withhold my food.” Her own smile turns dangerous.

“Of that I have no doubt.” Claude stands. “I really should get going – I didn’t mean to stay this long at all. I hope you didn’t mind.”

She blinks. Why would she mind? Is it not obvious how much she likes to be around him? “Of course not. “You…” _You’re always welcome_ , she almost says, but she stops herself. “You did really good today,” is what she tells him instead, but it’s still completely earnest. In fact, it’s an understatement. He’d made leading the Alliance look easy.

“Oh, thanks, Teach.” Claude rubs the back of his neck, looking faintly embarrassed. He steps away from the table they’re sitting at, crossing the room. Byleth stands and follows. He pauses once he reaches the door, turning back towards her. “It did go well, better than I could have hoped. I think I have you to thank for that.”

“I don’t–“

Claude shakes his head, interrupting her. “Please, let me say this. Thank you, my friend.” He smiles: beautiful, warm, genuine. “You being by my side… it makes a difference. So, thank you, for being here. For coming back to me–“ he flushes, and amends his words quickly “–to us, and for staying. I know it hasn’t been easy, and I want you to know that you can count on us as much as we count on you.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, Claude opens the door and leaves. Byleth might have gone after him – marched down the hallway and grabbed his arm and spun him around and kissed him – if two maids hadn’t bustled right in as soon as Claude left. One of them tuts at her hair – left to dry haphazardly after her bath – while the other goes straight to the closet Byleth hasn’t even looked in and pulls out a dress.

As they prepare her for the evening, Claude’s words play on a loop in her head and all she sees is his smile.

**Sixth bell**

Dinner is delicious, and Byleth heartily tucks into every course. When a woman not far from her sniffs and mutters about how Riegan standards have gone down since the new Duke came along, Byleth stares her down across the table until she flushes and lowers her head.

In truth, it’s probably not the most lavish dinner the Riegan estate has hosted, or the best food these nobles have seen after a Roundtable. But that’s because they’re at war. She knows Claude is only having it because it’s how the Roundtables have always been done, but he’d have happily sent them all away without their supper if it wouldn’t hurt his efforts to get their support.

But he wasn’t wasting any more money than he had to on it, not when there were so many dying and starving throughout the continent.

The wine still flows freely, however – something that Byleth is grateful for. She can hold her drink better than most, but it helps to make everything less formal and stuffy. And there’s more people here than there had been at the actual Roundtable meeting itself – husbands and wives, heirs and other children, and a group of people Byleth has labelled in her head as _miscellaneous minor nobles_. She’s an object of curiosity to many of them, but that’s something Byleth is used to by now.

Claude sits at the head of the largest table in the room – there’s no roundtables here. Byleth sits to his left, marking her as a guest of honour.

She turns her attention to him now. He’s already spoken to the room, and congratulated them all on the success of the Roundtable and how it will ensure their success in war – and so on. All the usual platitudes that are required. And even though Byleth knows exactly how much of what he’s saying is bravado and a show for the crowd, and how much is the truth, she had still found herself engrossed in Claude’s words and gestures, and the pleasant sound of his voice. And she hadn’t been the only one.

After Claude had spoken, it had been her turn to stand and say a few words on behalf of the Church. And, in truth, she found him a hard act to follow. Inwardly, she’d cursed herself for not bringing Seteth along even though she prefers that he’s not here. She likes that it’s just her and Claude, for once, even if most of their time is being spent among other people.

She knows it’s selfish.

Byleth is a much less compelling speaker than Claude, especially when she has to pretend to care more about the Church of Seiros than she actually does. But she’d managed well enough, only stumbling once, when her eyes had strayed and met Claude’s – who had been watching her with a small, satisfied smile on his face.

**Seventh bell**

After her own speech, it feels like everyone else in the room has something to say, even if they’d already said it several times earlier today during the Roundtable. This just seems to be the way the Alliance does things – lots of talking and shouting and everyone having their say until finally an agreement is made.

It’s extremely chaotic. While Claude has said he doesn’t like the Roundtables, he’s adept at handling his band of cantankerous nobles. Byleth thinks there’s probably a part of him that enjoys it, especially because he’s learned to get what he wants from them.

As the speeches go on, the wine continues to flow, and people’s attention spans start to lessen. Each speaker has to shout to be heard over the murmurs that are steadily increasing in volume, until Claude takes pity and motions for a bell to be struck, and then the crowd falls silent again.

For a few minutes, before the cycle begins again.

“Is it always like this?” Byleth asks quietly as they both pretend to listen to the current noble pledging his loyalty to the Alliance and the Church and lying about how he’d always had the utmost faith in Claude.

Claude turns slightly towards her, but keeps his eyes focused on the speaker. A smile plays at this lips. “Always. I actually think they’re better behaved because you’re here.”

“ _Me_?”

“Of course.” His eyes dart to her. “They might not be sure about the existence of the goddess, but best behave in front of her… _just in case_.”

Frowning, Byleth sits back in her seat, unsettled. “I’m not the goddess.”

“I know that. But these people–“ Claude nods his head towards the man speaking ”– don’t. Or aren’t sure about it, at least. But you’ve done enough to make them _wonder_ , and that, my friend, goes a long way.”

“I don’t like it,” she mutters, almost petulantly, focusing her gaze on the man speaking again.

“I know, and I’m sorry.” He leans forward, reaching his hand out to hers before he stops and sighs, and settles back in his own chair.

They both stare in silence for a moment, as noisy talk builds up around them again.

Eventually Byleth leans forward again, so Claude can hear her. “Why are you apologising for it?”

He lifts one shoulder, looking contrite. “I’ve hardly done anything to stop what people are saying. And I know I ask a lot of you.”

“I don’t mind.”

Claude also leans back towards her, bringing his face close to hers. “What if one day I ask too much?”

Byleth swallows, eyes searching his face. “I don’t think you could,” she whispers, and she can hear it in her own voice, the yearning. She didn’t know she could sound like that, wanting so badly. She didn’t know she could _feel_ it, but she does, so much that right now, it almost hurts.

With a somewhat shaky breath, Claude draws back slightly with wide eyes, and Byleth itches to touch him – just a simple touch of her hands against his. But the room is full – of nobles watching them carefully, with servants everywhere and guards lining the walls. And she doesn’t know how it would be perceived to be seen doing that.

“I–“ He starts and then stops, like he’s not sure what to say – something unusual enough for Claude to make Byleth frown and wonder if, once again, she’s said something wrong. If she’s being too obvious and making him uncomfortable.

The idea of it makes her cringe back, trying to give him some space. She picks up her glass and takes a gulp of wine, watching as Claude does the same.

In silence they both stare at the noble currently speaking, but Byleth doesn’t hear a word of it.

**Eight bell**

“The Duke is rather dashing in his own way, don’t you think, Archbishop?”

It always takes Byleth a second to remember that when people say Archbishop, they mean _her_.

“Please, call me Byleth,” she says. She’s already lost track of how many times she’s said it this evening. Most people politely ignore that she’s asked, but a few have comprised with Lady Byleth or Lady Eisner. Not that she likes being addressed as _Lady_ , either, but it’s better than Archbishop. Only those close to Claude – Holst, Judith, Nardel – call her by her name.

It’s nice, but she’s still waiting for Claude to say it.

The woman she’s standing with is going to politely ignore her request, Byleth can already tell. Her name is Isobel, who is vaguely related to House Goneril and some Adrestian noble family, Byleth remembers, but who is altogether one of the miscellaneous minor nobles who don’t hold any power or have much wealth. It’s proven exhausting trying to keep track of them all.

“Well?” Isobel prompts. “What do you think of the Duke?”

Byleth wants to laugh. She’s become so used to the nobles hedging around direct questions, it’s something of a relief to hear someone be so forward. Isobel has let her curiosity get the better of her, and the others gathered around them look on with great interest.

She smiles. “Claude was my student when he was at the Academy.” A statement of fact, one that gives them nothing and can’t be argued with.

There’s some laughing around her. “Oh, Archbishop, but surely he’s grown up since then? You two seem so close now.”

Byleth can feel the smile on her face freeze. She’s sure there’s an insinuation in those words. “We work well together,” she answers neutrally.

“Indeed,” an imperious voice sounds, and Byleth turns to see Countess Gloucester approaching. Lorenz’s mother is just as bad as his father. “You and the young Duke have made great strides in the war.” She says it like an insult. “We have all wondered why he hasn’t married and secured an heir. Surely you must have some insight you could share with us, Archbishop. For the good of the Alliance, of course.”

Somehow, Byleth manages to keep her strained smile on her face, but this conversation has the potential to quickly spiral into something very uncomfortable.

Claude has never spoken about marriage or even of any relationships he’s had – and for that Byleth is grateful. She’ll listen to him if he ever does want to share, but really, she doesn’t want to think about that – of Claude being with someone who isn’t her, even if she has no right to feel that way.

But to her, it’s obvious why he hasn’t married. “Countess Gloucester, I believe Duke Riegan has been too busy for that. I’m sure once the war is over he’ll have the time to contemplate marriage.” Her stomach turns, the wine suddenly sitting unpleasantly. She doesn’t like thinking about this.

“Hmm,” is the response, as the Countess looks down her nose at Byleth.

“Ladies!” The very man they’re discussing suddenly appears, like he’s been conjured by their words. There’s a flurry of curtseys and greetings, and while Claude smiles and greets everyone in the proper way a host should, his eyes never stray far from Byleth for long.

After a few moments of pleasantries, he says, “I hope you’ll all forgive me, but I need to steal Teach away from you all. We have some business to discuss.” Byleth hides a smile, both at the thought of Claude getting her away from the crowd because she knows there’s no urgent business for them to deal with, and because while he still isn’t calling her by name, she’ll take Teach over Archbishop any day.

Claude takes her arm, and they extract themselves from the group amidst another flurry of curtseys.

He leans in close as they circle the room so he can speak into her ear without people overhearing. “You looked like you needed help.”

Byleth can hear the smile in his voice but she’s a little put out that her thoughts had been showing on her face. “No, I didn’t.” She turns her face so she can see him better.

He laughs, tucking her hand tighter against his arm, and Byleth sighs, wishing once again that they weren’t wearing gloves. “Maybe not to anyone else,” Claude says, “but I could see it from all the way across the ballroom. And when I realised that Countess Gloucester was beside you, I knew the reason why. She and the Count make a fine pair. Poor Lorenz.”

She nods. Poor Lorenz indeed. The way he’d been at the Academy makes more sense now, after meeting his parents.

“What’s troubling you, Teach?” Claude asks her softly, making Byleth realise she never responded to him even though she’s still looking at the side of his face.

She faces forward again, once more feeling feeling that uncomfortable churn in her stomach. “It’s nothing, really. She was wondering why you haven’t married and made an heir.” Each word is a rock in Byleth’s throat. “Your noble duty.”

“I… see.” Peeking another glance, Byleth is surprised to see Claude looking a little flustered and it leaves her wondering if, once again, she’s said something wrong.

So she tries to make it better. “I told her you’ve been too busy for that. Politely. I hope you don’t mind.”

Claude laughs, incredulous. “No, Teach, I don’t mind, it’s the truth. Or, part of it, anyway.”

 _What’s the other part?_ she wants to ask.

She does not.

“I know I’ve said this before, but I am sorry I wasn’t here for so long.” Byleth comes to a stop some distance away from anyone else, turning to face Claude more fully while keeping her hand tucked into his arm.

“It’s really okay–“

She shakes her head and interrupts him. “It’s not. You’ve worked so hard and I think… I think you must have been lonely, sometimes.”

Claude starts and pulls back from her slightly, eyes scanning the room before returning to her face. He smiles, but it only makes Byleth feel worse, because it’s the one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nah, Teach, you know me.”

She frowns at that, but Claude doesn’t give her time to respond. His tone and face, however, do shift into sometime more sincere even as he steps back and she lets her arms fall to her side. “I have to go, but I’ll find you in a while.” He stares at her as he takes another step back, like he’s trying to impart something wordlessly. “Save me a dance?”

He turns away and is immediately swallowed up by someone wanting his attention. Byleth, too aware of many eyes on her, can only hold her head high and turn back into the crowd herself, swallowing down her uncertainty.

**Ninth bell**

Byleth would love to hide herself away in a corner of the room and just listen to the music being played expertly by the orchestra. But instead, she’s already danced several stiff sets with various partners, somehow managing to not make a fool of herself, although all of them had been various levels of awkward.

Her partners have generally been friendly, at least.

And younger. Sons and daughters are being nudged in her direction. When she and Holst begin dancing, Byleth can all the fans and glasses raised to mouths around the room as eyes bore into them. It makes Byleth pretty sure _her_ marriage is something that’s being discussed along with Claude’s.

But she’s trying not to think about that – or Claude in general, still anxious over the way they’d parted not so long ago. Instead, she does her best to focus on the dance and her partner, doing all she can to be diplomatic and, well, a leader.

After a time she makes her excuses and gracefully moves through the crowd – a woman on a mission to get a drink. She ensures her gaze is sharp enough to deter anyone from stopping her in conversation, so it doesn’t take her long to snag two glasses from a passing server.

It also doesn’t take long for someone _else_ to snatch one of those glasses out of her hand, and she turns with a mock glare, knowing exactly who it is.

“Thanks, Teach,” Claude says with a cheekiness she hasn’t seen in him since he’d been a student. It makes her feel better after the awkward way they’d parted earlier. He takes a sip of wine. “I was thirsty.”

He does look warm, no doubt from all the dancing he’s been doing himself. He’s dressed richly, in gold and black, and in a style different to anyone else here. It’s far lighter than what she’s seen him wear around Garreg Mach, where he wears layers and warm fabrics, with his shirt low enough for her to catch a glimpse of soft looking dark hair on his chest.

Byleth jerks her eyes back up to his face, finding him smiling at her, eyes twinkling.

She huffs, gathering her composure. “So was I. That’s why I got two. For myself.”

Claude raises his glass to lips to hide his smile. “You need to learn to pace yourself.”

With a scoff, Byleth knocks back her wine like it’s cheap ale and they’re in a no name tavern surrounded by mud and not in the palace of the sovereign Duke of the Leicester Alliance. “I am Jeralt the Blade Breaker’s daughter,” she says loftily. “I can handle my drink.”

He laughs, clearly charmed. “Oh, I have no doubt you could drink everyone in this room under the table.” He regards his own glass and then, with a shrug, tips it all back into his throat just as Byleth had done. Although, she thinks as she admires the line of his throat, he makes it look far more graceful.

When he’s finished, Claude takes her empty glass and sets both of them down on a nearby table. Around them, a smattering of applause breaks out as the orchestra finish a song and begin to set up for the next.

“Now,” he says, turning back to her with a flourish and holding out his hand to her. “May I have this dance?”

Byleth knows there’s a wide smile stretching across her face. It feels unfamiliar to smile like this, but so good. And perhaps she should be more careful to keep her expression controlled, but she can’t help it. Especially not when he’s got a smile just as wide as hers on his face.

She takes his hand.

**Tenth bell**

Dancing with Claude is exhilarating.

It’s not the first time she’s danced with him, of course. They’d had that once dance together, back at the Garreg Mach ball, when he’d pulled her out unexpectedly onto the dance floor. That had been fun – surprisingly so. It’s a memory that Byleth cherishes, perhaps because not long after it, everything had fallen apart.

But that dance had not felt like this.

Dancing with the other nobles had not felt like this.

Claude’s hand at her waist is pleasant and warm through the thin fabric of her dress. Byleth can feel each press of his fingers. His thumb strokes across her side lightly, making her shiver.

His other hand holds one of hers tightly. And with his hands and his feet, he leads her through the dance she’s not familiar with, never letting her stumble.

He’s so warm, but not in a way that feels overwhelming in the already hot room. More in a way that make her want to press herself closer, especially with the way he’s looking at her right now – a soft smile and bright eyes and an expression completely at odds with how he’d looked a couple of hours ago, when she’d mentioned he must have been lonely over the past few years.

Byleth lowers her gaze as her mind wanders, only to met with the view of Claude’s chest.

Her stomach flips pleasantly as Claude’s leg presses against her, leading her confidently.

Once again, she wonders how to navigate feelings like this; what is and isn’t appropriate to say or do.

“You seem deep in thought, my friend.” Claude speaks in a low voice, close to her ear. His breath against her skin sends a jolt through her, and Byleth’s fingers clench against his shoulder and hand before she forces herself to relax.

For a brief moment, Byleth considers deflecting – doing what Claude himself might do. Smile and shrug and say something like _it’s just been a long day_.

But she doesn’t do that. Instead she raises her head and traces her eyes across his face – over his lips, his nose, his flushed cheeks, and his sparkling eyes, and over the unruly bit of hair falling across his forehead.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable before.” Byleth speaks in a low voice, though over the music and with their socially approved close proximity there’s little chance of anyone overhearing them.

She feels Claude move closer, regardless, his thigh pressing against her.

He’s so close now, his face tilted down towards hers, that it would take nothing for her to stretch up and brush her lips against his.

Byleth swallows and tries to press down the desire that flares up in her.

“You didn’t,” Claude whispers, something fierce in his voice. He doesn’t even ask what she’s talking about, but Byleth knows they’re both on the same page. “I’m sorry if I came across cold, but…” His eyes dart briefly around the room, loud with music and drunk, dancing people, leagues away from the realities of the war they’ve been fighting. When he looks at her again, there’s nothing cold in his expression at all. “It’s just that you make a guy feel exposed, Teach.” He turns them as they dance, somehow managing to press closer to her until there’s no space between their bodies, and she’s crushed against him, and still it’s not close enough for Byleth. “And everyone here is looking for my weakness.”

“Is that what I am?” she breathes against his cheek, the words coming out without thought. She feels dizzy, and it has nothing to do with their dancing and everything to do with the way Claude is filling all of her senses.

Claude swallows heavily. “No. Never.” He pulls way from her to direct her into a flamboyant spin. Byleth lets herself be led by him, wondering how he’s able to pay so much attention to the dance – which now requires them to be further apart than she’d like, and no more conversation is able to be had.

All she can focus on is him. She briefly wonders what it is about Claude that lets her dance so gracefully, when with anyone else it’s stilted and awkward. But Byleth knows what it is, really. She’s so attuned to him – to every press of his leg, or gentle direction of his arm, to each squeeze of his fingers on her waist or her hand. To every minuscule change of expression on his face.

As they move together like this, she wonders if it’s the same for him. But for all that she knows him and for all their closeness… she doesn’t know _that_. She is his friend, and he trusts her – and Byleth knows his trust is not easily gained. She knows that he’s still full of secrets. And while he’s more open than he was when she first met him – just as she is – in this, the realm of love and attraction, she has no idea about what he might want.

But right now, as Claude twirls her around the dance floor like they’re the only two in the room, his eyes never leaving her face, it’s almost enough for her to believe in that moment that he might want her as much as she wants him.

**Eleventh bell**

The quietness of the Riegan palace away from the party is wonderful. With the free reign given to her by Claude to go where she wishes, Byleth finds herself wandering the grand hallways. She knows Claude is off being a proper host and bidding goodnight to all his guests, and she hopes her own stealthy exit won’t cause any problems. But she’d reached her limit – she had Claude had danced together for three songs, before they’d both been claimed by other partners.

And after Claude, she’d had little patience for dealing with anyone else. Other hands holding her and leading her felt wrong, so she’d gritted her teeth and been polite as she could until she she’d spotted a chance to make her exit.

She’s not sure if she’ll even see Claude again before breakfast. The plan is for them to return to Garreg Mach before lunch – as soon as Claude finishes up business with Nardel.

Byleth sighs, trying to sort through her emotions. She should probably go back to her room and try to sleep. It’s been a very long day. Actually, it’s been one very long day after another.

But she doesn’t feel tired. Her dances with Claude had raised desire in her that still hasn’t left. She can still smell the clean, pleasant scent of him, like it’s lingering where he touched her, and if she closes her eyes she can almost imagine him pressed against her again.

Energy thrums under her skin, almost like magic, and she knows there’s no chance of her sleeping while she feels like this. Her fingers twitch by her side, searching for where her sword should be as she considers finding the training yard so she can tire herself out that way.

As she contemplates this, Byleth continues her aimless wandering, silently moving through a wide hallway with tall, arched windows. There are no lamps lit, but it’s a clear night with a bright full moon, giving her more than enough light to see. As she walks, she turns her attention to the portraits that hang on the wall.

Generations of Riegans stare back at her – Dukes and Duchesses and their various children since the founding of the Alliance. Byleth’s eyes skim over them, only interested in trying to see if she can pick out any similarities to Claude.

She doesn’t find any until she turns a corner into another hallway. This one is shorter, with only one portrait hanging at the other end, beautifully illuminated by the moonlight.

Byleth steps forward, transfixed. The woman in the portrait is young and beautiful, her hair perhaps a dark red or possibly brown, her dress lavish and full of the typical gold flourishes that the Riegans seem to favour. But it’s her eyes that captivate Byleth, because they’re so similar to the ones she loves.

After a time she notices some other similarities – the slant of the woman’s smile, the arch of her eyebrows, the set of her jaw.

When Byleth hears a rustle of movement behind her she doesn’t stir, because she already knows who it is.

“Ah,” says Claude, coming to a stop by her side, arm brushing against hers. “You’ve found the portrait of the infamous Tiana von Riegan.” He speaks with clear fondness in his voice.

Byleth keeps her eyes on the portrait, resisting the urge to look at him. “Your mother,” she states with confidence.

“My mother.” Claude repeats the words quietly. He says nothing else for a moment, and then, with a rare show of uncertainty, “Aren’t you going to ask where she is?”

“No.” Byleth thinks she knows anyway, but doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. And if she’s right, and Claude’s half-Almyran, she can understand the secrecy even if it makes her sad that he’s had to do that. Once again she thinks of her comment earlier – _you must have been lonely_ – and wants to wince at herself.

“Anyone else would.” Like her, Claude is staring straight ahead at the portrait. “And I know all your secrets. Isn’t it only fair that you know some of mine?”

She frowns. “It’s not a trade.” Stepping in front of him, Byleth catches his gaze. He looks beautiful bathed in moonlight, but she doesn’t like the forlorn expression on his face. And he looks tired – tired from years of ruling and hiding and loneliness. She sighs, reaching out to grab his hands. Claude’s eyebrows raise in surprise, but he lets her take his hands in hers, holding them between them. They’re standing further apart than they’d been when they’d been dancing, but alone in the quiet stillness of the night, it manages to feel even more intimate.

“Aren’t we friends, Claude?”

He softens. “Of course we are.”

“Alright, then,” she responds briskly. “Then as your friend, I must tell you that it’s hard to know whether or not to ask you questions like that. I’m sure you’re aware that you deflect.”

Claude’s lips twitch. “Do I do that?” At her unimpressed expression, he smiles properly. “I suppose I do.”

“You have your reasons, I’m sure. But know that I’m here if you ever want to…” She trails off.

Claude looks beyond her for a moment, once again gazing at the portrait of his mother with a serious expression. After a moment, like he’s come to a decision, he nods, turning his attention back to Byleth and squeezing her hands gently.

“Thank you, my friend.” He smiles as he says those last two words. “Can I walk you back to your room?”

She nods. “I’m not sure I even know the way from here.”

Claude leads her back down the hallway, away from the portrait of his mother, and through the hallway containing generations of his ancestors. As they go, he tells her small tidbits of things she’d missed at the party, and how pleased he is that everything went better than expected. They meander through rooms and more hallways until Byleth finds herself back in familiar territory, recognising this part of the palace from earlier that day.

And the whole time, they never once let go of each other’s hand.

**Midnight**

The bell marking midnight tolls just as they reach her room. Much as he had the night before, Claude stops in front of her door. But he doesn’t let go of her, his grip as firm as ever, thumb brushing over the back of her hand.

“Thank you,” he says as Byleth faces him. “I feel like I’m always saying that to you. But I promise you this, I will tell you. Soon.”

“About your mother?” she asks, intrigued.

“Yes. And… other things, I imagine.”

Byleth nods slowly, pleased with that. She can wait. “You promise?”

“I promise.” He places his free hand on his heart, bowing slightly. “I give you my word as Duke Riegan, sovereign Duke of the Alliance, former house leader of the Golden Deer, and the very best friend of one Byleth Eisner.”

The unexpected use of her name startles a small but delighted laugh out of Byleth, and Claude grins back at her. Lifting the hand he’s still holding, he places his lips gently against the back of her gloved fingers.

It makes her freeze, and for the laugh to catch in her throat as her eyes widen, gaze locked on Claude’s eyes as he watches her from over her hand. That desire that always seems to be bubbling close to the surface these days flares stronger than ever before as heat spreads through her.

Byleth tightens her fingers around his and tugs him forward, closer to her. Even though she isn’t exerting much strength, Claude goes willingly, until he’s crowding her against the door, his hand still tangled in hers by their sides.

His head lowers, his breath brushing across her cheek. “Byleth,” Claude whispers with such feeling it makes her shudder. It’s so close to how she’s imagined him saying it before, in situations so similar to this, when they’re alone in the dark.

It’s so close to what she wants, it feels like a dream. But no dream she’s ever had as been as good as this, this moment of closeness.

“Claude… I–“ Byleth struggles to find words, and instead releases his hand to let her own skim up his chest and into his hair.

He makes a pleased sound at the back of his throat, eyes briefly fluttering shut. When he reopens them, his gaze is heavy as he watches her face, clearly enjoying the feel of her hand running through his hair. Shifting closer to her, Claude’s hands find her waist, pulling her firmly against him, and Byleth bites back a moan that threatens to spill out of her mouth because she’s sure she can feel him getting hard against her hip. Her own arousal grows, heat growing low in her belly.

The look in Claude’s eyes makes her shiver.

Their breathing grows harsher, seeming exceptionally loud in the quiet night. And Byleth, emboldened by Claude’s actions, tilts her face up and lets her lips brush lightly against the corner of his mouth, knowing that this simple move could change everything.

“ _Byleth_ ,” Claude groans, sounding desperate. One of his hands slide up her back and over her shoulder to tangle in her hair as he turns his head to crush his mouth against hers, pressing her tight between him and the door behind her.

She gasps as she opens her mouth to him, eager to taste him, and all coherent thoughts leave as Claude’s tongue sweeps against hers. Arching herself in an attempt to press even closer, every part of her feels over sensitive, and her hands sweep up and down his back, unable to settle.

Claude’s free hand cradles her face, gentling angling her for better access to her mouth in a way that’s a complete contrast to the passionate way he’s kissing her; deep open mouthed kisses that Byleth wishes could go on forever.

But it can’t, and after a time they begin to slow down, Claude stroking her face as he softly draws her lower lip between his, making Byleth melt even further against him. When he finally draws away, he doesn’t go very far, resting his forehead against hers as they try to catch their breath.

Byleth watches him through hazy eyes, revelling in his closeness and in the fact that he seems just as affected as her. She had never hoped he might return the feelings she had for him, and the thought that he does fills her with almost overwhelming happiness, and she holds him tighter to assure herself that it’s real.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” he murmurs, voice rough as his arms wrap around her, drawing her into a hug.

Byleth nuzzles against his chest – something _she’s_ wanted to do for a while now. “So have I.”

Claude lets out a deep breath before pressing his face into her hair. “I told myself to wait until after the war,” he says faintly, voice muffled. “I’d waited this long, what was a few more months.”

She forces herself away from his chest to peer up at his face. “How long,” she asks, “have you waited?”

“I think you know, Teach,” he responds, looking embarrassed. “And don’t apologise, because I know you’re going to. You’re here now, and that’s what matters.”

Byleth had indeed opened her mouth to apologise, but she closes it again, having nothing else to say, her mind still foggy from Claude’s kisses.

With that thought, she reaches up to kiss him again, softly; gently opening his mouth up to her, stroking her tongue against his, and letting him overwhelm her senses all over again.

After another indeterminable amount of time kissing, she murmurs against his lips, “I want to invite you in.”

She feels, rather than sees, his smile. “And I want to accept that offer, believe me.” He draws back. “But I don’t think that would be right before I tell you everything and it’s… not the time for that.”

Byleth scrutinises him, for once a touch frustrated with his secrets. But he has already promised that he would tell her. As if he guesses her thoughts, Claude presses a chaste kiss against her lips in apology.

“I suppose,” she says slowly, reluctantly parting from his lips, “you waited for me. I can wait for you.” Some hair has fallen into his face that she brushes away, savouring being able to touch him like this.

Claude’s relief is obvious, his smile beaming as he leans into her hand. “It’ll be worth it, Teach. When this war is over, we can build a new world. You and me.”

Byleth hums in agreement as she hastily pulls off one of her long gloves, letting it drop to the floor carelessly. Claude sighs in contentment as her bare fingers brush against his cheeks and find their way back into his hair again.

“That sounds good,” she whispers.

Claude’s head dips lower, resting on her shoulder. She can feel his hot breath against her neck, and then his lips against the sensitive skin. A needy noise escapes her throat.

“I don’t want to wait,” he mutters almost petulantly into her skin, and Byleth can’t help but laugh softly at that, even if she feels the same way.

She tugs gently on his hair and he raises his head to look at her. “Neither do I,” she says softly. “But… don’t you think it’ll be worth the wait?”

Claude blinks at her and then a slow smile spreads across his face. “Using my own words against me, Byleth?”

Nodding, she lowers her voice, recalling the way he’d said these words to her hours earlier. “The first time? I’ll make it special.”

He laughs loudly, though she can see his blush even in the low light. “I have no doubt about that.” Smiling, he wraps a strand of her hair around his finger, tugging lightly. “You’ve gotten good at teasing, Teach.”

“Just you. You make it easy.” She can’t seem to drag her eyes away from his lips.

“Do I?” he asks idly, arching an eyebrow

“Hm,” is her only response before she kisses him, already wanting more, and by the time they part, they’re both panting again.

“I should go,” Claude rasps.

Byleth nods, and releases her grip on him. Claude takes a step back, and then a beat later drops his hands from her waist.

They both sigh in unison.

It’ll be hard to wait, Byleth knows.

She turns the handle of her door, and prepares herself to step inside and away from him.

Glancing back at Claude, she watching as he runs his thumb over his well kissed lips, watching her with open desire.

It’ll be _extremely_ hard to wait. But he’s worth it. He’s given her his friendship and his trust and now this.

“Goodnight Claude,” Byleth whispers with a smile that he returns.

“See you at breakfast, By,” he replies, obviously testing out the new nickname, pleased to see her smile widen at it.

Finally, Byleth steps into the room, both of them watching each other until she closes the door. A moment later she hears Claude leave.

She laughs softly to herself, bringing her fingers to her lips, still able to taste him.

**First bell**

Byleth sleeps soundly, dreams far more pleasant than they had been the previous night, filled with hopes for the future.


End file.
